Earlier in his life, Paul had helped raise several children, and especially enjoyed reading stories to them aloud. I'll never forget showing this story to Paul near the end of his life and watching tears of laughter roll down his cheeks as he read it to me. Fortunately, Michael Bond was good enough to allow me to reprint it in the Journal shortly thereafter.

The hospital psychiatrist in this story is referred to as a "trick cyclist", apparently so as not to startle Paddington Bear, who is easily startled and for whom English is a secondary language. This word play did not originate with this 1968 story, however. Some believe it arose during WWII among British soldiers — who didn't think much of shrinks. (See "No Time for Sargeants" for an American WWII comedy that wryly lampoons psychologists.) calls this "Cockney rhyming slang", and quotes a use of it from the January 8, 1960 issue of the Evening Times (Glasgow, Scotland): "Sooner I get on a trick cyclist's couch the better." According to , it was used in The British journal of criminology as early as 1964.

In the 1950's, homosexuals adopted the derogatory term "gay" and transmuted derogation to celebration. More recently President Obama has embraced the epithet "Obamacare". In a similar way, a site named describes itself as "a free resource for psychiatry trainees who are studying for their membership of the Royal College of Psychiatrists."

Mrs. Brown gave a sigh as she searched through her kitchen drawer for an elastic band. "If I see another jar of calves' foot jelly," she exclaimed with unusual vigour, "I shall scream. That's the fourth one this week. Not to mention three pots of jam, two dozen eggs and goodness knows how many bunches of grapes."

Mrs. Bird gave a snort. "If you ask me," she said grimly, "Mr. Curry will be coming out of hospital when it suits him and not a minute before. He knows when he's on to a good thing. Free board and lodging and everyone at his beck and call. He has a relapse every time the doctor says he's getting better."

The Brown's housekeeper took the elastic band from Mrs. Brown and gave it a hard ping as she released it round the neck of the jar. From the expression on her face it looked as if Mr. Curry could consider himself lucky that he wasn't within range.

It was a little over a week since the Brown's neighbour had been admitted to hospital after his accident on the golf course and although X-rays and a number of probings from various doctors had revealed nothing amiss he still maintained he couldn't move his leg.

Since then the Browns had received a constant stream of postcards, notes and other messages containing urgent requests for things ranging from best grapes to newspapers, magazines, writing paper, stamps and other items too numerous to be mentioned.

At first they had been only too pleased to oblige, and with Jonathan and Judy back at school after the summer holidays Paddington in particular had spent a great deal of his time rushing round the market with his shopping basket on wheels seeing to Mr. Curry's various wants.

But after a week of visiting and listening to his complaints their enthusiasm was beginning to wear decidedly thin.

Even the hospital staff were becoming restive and the Ward Sister herself had made some very pointed remarks about the shortage of beds.

"I'm not having him here," said Mrs. Bird flatly. "That's final. And I'm certainly not having Paddington run about after him once he's home. He'll be wearing that poor bear's paws to the bone."

Paddington, who happened to arrive in the kitchen at that moment, gave a start and looked hastily at his paws, but to his relief there was no sign of anything poking through the pads and so he turned his attention to the basket of food standing on the table.

"Now you're sure you'll be all right?" asked Mrs. Brown as she carefully wedged a fruit cake into the last remaining space.

Paddington licked his lips. "I think so, Mrs. Brown," he said.

"And no picking the cherries out of the cake on the way," warned Mrs. Bird, reading his thoughts. "If Mr. Curry finds any holes we shall be getting another postcard and I've had quite enough for one week."

Paddington looked most offended at the suggestion. "Pick cherries out of Mr. Curry's cake!" he exclaimed.

Mrs. Brown broke in hastily. "Explain to him that we can't come tonight," she said. "We're all going out. There's no need to stay more than five minutes. They don't usually allow visiting in the morning but Mrs. Bird rang the Sister in charge of the ward and she said it would be all right just this once."

Paddington listened carefully to all his instructions. In his heart of hearts he wasn't too keen on visiting Mr. Curry by himself. All his visits since the accident had been with other members of the family and he had a nasty feeling that the Brown's neighbour might have one or two things to say on the subject of the golf match so he brightened at the news that he wouldn't have to stay long.

Mrs. Brown had arranged for a taxi to call and take Paddington to the hospital and a few minutes later, armed with the basket together with a small parcel of sandwiches and a thermos flask of hot cocoa in case he got delayed and missed his elevenses, he put on his duffle-coat and hat and set off.

As the taxi disappeared round the corner of Windsor Gardens Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Bird turned and went back inside the house.

"I do hope we're doing the right thing, letting him go by himself," sighed Mrs. Brown, as she closed the front door.

"I shouldn't worry about that bear," said Mrs. Bird decidedly. "He knows how to look after number one."

Mrs. Brown gave another sigh. "It wasn't Paddington I was thinking of," she replied. "It's the hospital."

Mr. Curry had been admitted to a hospital not far from Windsor Gardens. It was a busy establishment and Mrs. Brown shuddered to think of what might happen if Paddington took the wrong turning and got lost in one of its many corridors.

However, it was much too late to worry for it was only a matter of minutes before Paddington's taxi swung off the main road, passed through some large gates, and drew to a halt at the main entrance to a large brick building.

Paddington didn't often have the chance to travel in a taxi, especially by himself, and he was slightly disappointed that it was all over so quickly. Nevertheless, he felt most important as he climbed out on to the forecourt, and after thanking the driver for the ride, made his way through the entrance doors towards a desk marked RECEPTION.

"Mr. Curry?" said the uniformed man behind the desk. He ran his finger down a long list clipped to a board. "I don't recollect anyone of that name. Have you an appointment?"

"Oh, yes," said Paddington. "Mrs. Bird made one specially."

The receptionist scratched his head. "Any idea what he does?" he asked. "This is a big hospital, you know. We have all sorts of people here."

Paddington thought for a moment. "I don't think he does anything very much," he said at last. "Except grumble."

"That doesn't help a lot," said the man. "We've got one or two like that round here I can tell you. What's your name, please?"

"Brown," said Paddington promptly. "Paddington Brown. From number thirty-two Windsor Gardens."

The receptionist riffled through some more papers. "I can't find any bears down for an appointment either, let alone brown ones," he said at last. "I think I'd better pass you on to our Mr. Grant. He deals with the difficult cases."

"Thank you very much," said Paddington gratefully. "Is he the head man?"

"That's right," said the receptionist, picking up a telephone. He was about to dial a number when he paused and looked at Paddington. "The head man," he repeated, his face clearing. "Bless me! Why didn't you say so before? You want the psychiatrist."

Seeing Paddington's look of surprise he leaned over his desk. "That's the chap who looks after things up here," he said, tapping his own head as he lowered his voice confidentially. "What we call the 'head-shrinker'."

Paddington began to look more and more astonished as he listened. Although he was very keen on long words he'd never heard of one as long as "psychiatrist" before, and even if his hat did feel a bit tight sometimes, particularly when he had a marmalade sandwich inside it, he wasn't at all sure that he wanted to cure it by having his head shrunk.

"I think I'd rather have my hat stretched instead," he announced with growing alarm.

It was the man's turn to look surprised as he took in Paddington's words. From where he was standing there was a very odd look about the figure on the other side of the desk, and although he couldn't find any trace of an appointment in the name of Brown, he felt sure, if the present conversation was anything to go by, that for once the rules could be by-passed.

Paddington had a very hard stare when he liked and backing away slightly the receptionist hastily consulted another list.

"There, there," he said. "There's nothing to worry about. I'll try and arrange for you to see our Mr. Heinz."

"Mr. Heinz!" exclaimed Paddington hotly. "But I wanted to see Mr. Curry. I've brought him one of Mrs. Bird's cherry cakes."

Reaching for a walking stick the man looked anxiously over his shoulder as he came round to the front of the desk. "I think you'll find Mr. Heinz much nicer," he said, eyeing Paddington warily. Realising the expression "head-shrinker" had been a bit upsetting, not to mention the "psychiatrist", he tried hard to think of another name. "He's our best 'trick-cyclist'," he added soothingly. "Just follow me."

Apart from the time when he'd spilt some hot toffee down his front by mistake and then had been unable to stand up again after it set, Paddington hadn't had a lot to do with hospitals. Even so he looked most surprised to hear that they had such things as "trick-cyclists" for the entertainment of visitors. It sounded very good value indeed and he looked around with interest as he followed the man towards a door at the far end of a long corridor.

Motioning Paddington to wait the man disappeared into the room. For a few moments there was the sound of a muffled conversation and then the door opened again.

"You're in luck's way," whispered the receptionist. "Mr. Heinz can see you straight away. He's got a free period."

Taking hold of Paddington's spare paw he propelled him through the door and then hastily closed it behind him.

After the brightness of the corridor the room seemed unusually dark. The slatted blinds were drawn over the windows and the only light came from a green shaded lamp on a desk at the far side. Apart from some cabinets and several chairs there was a long couch, rather like a padded table, in the middle of the room and behind the desk itself Paddington made out the dim figure of a man in a white coat who appeared to be examining him through a pair of unusually thick-lensed glasses.

"Come in come in," said the man, turning the lamp so that it shone on Paddington's face. "Take off your coat and make yourself comfortable."

"Thank you very much," said Paddington, blinking in the strong light. He felt very pleased that he was the first one in and taking off his duffle-coat and hat he placed them on top of his basket and then settled himself down in a near-by chair.

"Have I got long to wait?" he asked, unwrapping his sandwiches.

"Oh, no," said the man in the white coat. He picked up a pen. "In fact, I'll start right away."

"I'm sorry about the cherry cake," said Paddington cheerfully.

Mr. Heinz put his pen down again. Taking off his glasses he breathed on the lenses, polished them with a handkerchief and then replaced them on his nose. "You are sorry about your cherry cake?" he repeated carefully.

Paddington nodded. "I'm afraid I can't let you have a slice," he said, "because Mrs. Bird doesn't want any more postcards from Mr. Curry. But you can have one of my marmalade sandwiches if you like."

Mr. Heinz gave a slight shudder as he waved aside the open bag. "Very kind of you," he said briefly, "but " He paused. "Is anything the matter?" he enquired, as Paddington began peering anxiously around the room.

"It's all right, thank you, Mr. Heinz," said Paddington, turning his attention back to the man behind the desk. "I was only wondering where you keep your bike."

"My bike?" Mr. Heinz rose from his chair and came round to the front of the desk. "This really is a most interesting case," he exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. "The receptionist said er " He broke off as Paddington gave him a hard stare. "Er that is I may even write an article about it," he continued hastily. "I don't think I've had any bear patients before."

Helping Paddington to his feet Mr. Heinz motioned him towards the couch in the middle of the room. "I'd like you to lie on that," he said. "And then look up towards the ceiling and try to make your mind a blank."

Paddington examined the couch with interest. "Thank you very much," he exclaimed doubtfully as he clambered up, "but shall I be able to see your tricks?"

"My tricks?" repeated Mr. Heinz.

"The man in the hall said you were going to do some tricks," explained Paddington, beginning to look rather disappointed that nothing much was happening.

"I expect he was trying to humour er that is, keep you happy," said Mr. Heinz, making his way back to the desk.

"As a matter of fact," he continued casually, "I'd like to play a little game. It's really to test your reactions."

"A game to test my reactions?" repeated Paddington, looking more and more surprised. "I didn't know I had any."

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Heinz. "Everyone has reactions. Some people have fast ones and some have slow." He picked up his pen again. "Now I'm going to call out some words — quite quickly — and each time I call one out I want you to give me another one which has the opposite meaning Right?"

"Wrong," said Paddington promptly.

Mr. Heinz paused with his pen half-way to the paper. "What's the matter?" he asked crossly. "Aren't you comfortable?"

"Oh, yes," said Paddington, "but you told me to say the opposite every time you gave me a word." He sat up and gave the man behind the desk another hard stare. For someone who was supposed to be testing reactions he didn't think much of Mr. Heinz's own ones at all.

For some unknown reason Mr. Heinz appeared to be counting under his breath. "That wasn't the word, bear," he said breathing heavily. "Wait until I give you the go-ahead. Once you start I don't want to hear anything else. I'll give you a count-down, beginning now. Three two one go!"

"Stop!" said Paddington.

Mr. Heinz opened his mouth and then appeared to change his mind. "Very good," he said grudgingly.

"Very bad," replied Paddington eagerly.

"Look here!" began Mr. Heinz, a note of panic in his voice.

"Look there!" cried Paddington wildly. Much as he had been looking forward to seeing Mr. Heinz do some tricks on his bicycle he was beginning to think the present game was much more interesting and he looked most disappointed when his last reply was greeted with silence. "Can't you think of any more words, Mr. Heinz?" he asked.

The psychiatrist spent a moment or two drumming on his desk with his fingers. He looked as if there were a number of words he would like to have said, but ignoring the temptation he picked up his pen again.

"White," he said wearily.

"Black," said Paddington, settling down again on the couch with his paws crossed and a pleased expression on his face.

"Big," said Mr. Heinz hopefully.

"Small," said Paddington promptly.

"Fast," said Mr. Heinz.

"Slow," said Paddington.

Trying several more words in quick succession Mr. Heinz begin to look better pleased with the way things were going and for several minutes his pen raced across the paper as he tried to keep pace with Paddington's replies.

"Fine," he said at last, leaning back in his chair.

"Wet," exclaimed Paddington.

Mr. Heinz gave a chuckle. "We've finished " he began.

"We've started," said Paddington.

"No we haven't," said Mr. Heinz crossly.

"Yes we have," cried Paddington.

"No no no!" shouted Mr. Heinz, thumping on his desk.

"Yes yes yes!" cried Paddington, waving his paws in the air.

"Will you stop!" yelled Mr. Heinz.

"No I won't!" cried Paddington, nearly falling off the couch in his excitement.

Mr. Heinz looked wildly about the room. "Why did I ever take this up?" he cried, burying his face in his hands. "I should have my head examined!"

Paddington sat up looking most surprised at the last remark. "Perhaps it needs shrinking," he said, peering at Mr. Heinz's head with interest. "I should go and see the man in the hall. He might be able to help you. He knows all about these things."

As Paddington began clambering down off the couch Mr. Heinz made a dash for the door. "I shall be gone for five minutes," he announced dramatically. "Five minutes! And if you're still here when I get back "

Mr. Heinz left his sentence unfinished but from the way he punctuated it with the slam of the door even Paddington could see that he wasn't best pleased at the way things had gone.

He peered at the closed door for several moments and then hastily gathered up his belongings. There was another door leading out of Mr. Heinz's room and after considering the matter Paddington decided to investigate this one instead of the door he'd come in by. There had been rather a nasty expression on Mr. Heinz's face when he'd left, one which he hadn't liked the look of at all, and whatever lay on the other side of the second door Paddington felt sure it couldn't be worse than the possibility of meeting the hospital's "trick-cyclist" again. Reprinted by permission of the author, from Paddington Goes to Town,
copyright 1968 by Michael Bond with illustrations by Peggy Fortnum.